


The Regulars

by Exstarsis



Category: Fate/kaleid liner PRISMA ILLYA, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night (Visual Novel), Fate/stay night - All Media Types, 衛宮さんちの今日のごはん | Emiya-san Chi no Kyou no Gohan | Today's Menu for the Emiya Family (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:00:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22281805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exstarsis/pseuds/Exstarsis
Summary: In Fuyuki City, there's a certain bar where a man called Archer is ready to greet his customers as they come in after a long day at their jobs. Lancer, Rider, Caster, Saber... they're all looking for their place in the world. Why are they there? How did they get there? And who's that magical girl in the distance with all the cards?(This is mildly plotted slice-of-life story in the style of Emiya Gohan, set in the Prisma Illya universe.)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 47





	1. Hell To Pay When The Fiddler Stops

It was a pleasant autumn evening and the tall woman called Rider closed up the antique shop where she worked a little earlier than usual. There were some books waiting for her at the shop down the street and she wanted to pick them up before closing time, and maybe see if anything new had arrived, too. But her fellow shopkeeper knew to expect her, and the books were already wrapped and ready to go. It made Rider laugh, just a little, because he knew her too well to give her an excuse to browse when he wanted his dinner.

Tucking her new acquisitions into her bag, Rider continued on her evening stroll through Mount Miyama shopping district. She turned down a little-used alley and came to a halt outside an establishment labelled only _Izakaya_ in black letters on a spotlit white sign. She glared briefly at the simple sign, as if something about it annoyed her, but when she opened the door and went inside, it was clear she was very familiar with the place.

Within, she glanced around, checking out who was there. It was a small restaurant, with a bar and kitchen in one corner and a mix of high and low tables. The lighting was just enough to read by without being uncomfortably bright, and the walls were decorated with posters of various weapons, a hobby of the cook. She only saw one of the other regulars, a woman called Saber. The other woman was placing an elaborate order with an auburn-haired young man that Rider didn’t recognize. He was trying hard to keep up with Saber’s order, but he seemed to be running out of room on his order pad.

Rider smiled and moved to the bar, nodding at the tall man behind the slab. “Good evening, Archer. Who’s the kid?”

Archer put a bowl of salted edamame in front of Rider, grimacing. “One Shirou Edelfelt. The owner hired him. One of his damned whims.”

“Not a fan?” Rider ate one of the snacks and then picked up the bowl preparatory to moving to her usual table.

Archer shrugged. “He seems like a hard worker, but something about him rubs me the wrong way.” He cracked a sardonic grin. “He seems to think he’ll be doing some cooking here. You think I should let him try with Saber?”

Rider glanced back at the small blonde woman, who was almost as famous for her obsession with Archer’s cooking as she was for her prodigious appetite. “Don’t be cruel.”

“Yeah, Saber doesn’t deserve that,” said Archer, which hadn’t been what Rider meant at all. But it didn’t pay to argue with the cook at the izakaya, so Rider just shrugged and took her snacks and her books to her usual table.

By the time Archer brought her a beer and a plate of yakitori, she was already engrossed in what appeared to be a used textbook on some esoteric subject. Because he knew his customers, he tactfully put down the food and drink without interrupting her before retreating back to his bar, where the new waiter was inspecting his frying apparatus with far too keen an interest.

“Can I—” began the kid.

“No. You’re the waiter, not the cook. And look, the couple in the corner has empty glasses. Dealing with that is _your_ job.” Archer was looking forward to when it got crowded. Then he’d really be able to see how the kid handled himself.

Not that it would matter. If Shirou Edelfelt was one of the owner’s whims, he’d have to practically burn the place down before Archer would be allowed to fire him.

The door to the izakaya slammed open and a cheerful voice called, “Hiya, everybody!” Taiga Fujimura sprang into the restaurant like the tiger she was nicknamed for, hauling somebody with her who seemed to be trying to hide behind her.

Saber, her mouth full, waved. Rider looked up from her book, discovered the food and drink waiting for her, and put her book aside with an embarrassed smile in Archer’s direction. And Shirou Edelfelt darted forward to greet the new guests, so eager he almost tripped over a chair.

Archer facepalmed and then shrugged at Taiga when she skidded to a halt, looking between Shirou and himself.

“Hello!” she said, still hanging onto her shrinking companion’s wrist. “You look familiar. Do I know you? Did you attend Homurahara Elementary?”

“No ma’am!” said Shirou, before gabbling off an introduction and trying to show the ladies to a table.

Taiga ignored him, her head swiveling between the waiter and the bartender as if comparing them, until finally her companion screwed up the courage to say something. “Taiga, can we sit down? Everybody’s staring…”

“Yes, yes! Let’s sit down. Archer, bring us some fish snacks and beer!”

“I’ll get you that, ma’am,” said Shirou, managing to pull out a chair for Taiga’s companion with an adroitness that made Archer scowl before moving to fill her order.

Taiga hauled Shirou to a halt by the back of his shirt and said, “You can put it together, but I want _Archer_ to bring it, so I can introduce him to my new friend.” She puffed herself up as she spoke, as if she was going to be showing off some sort of rare award she’d won.

His shoulders slumping, Shirou retreated. By the time he’d come around behind the bar, Archer had already filled the glasses and plated the snacks. As he hefted everything for delivery, he said, “Don’t touch _anything_ except the glasses, kid.”

Taiga’s companion was a pretty, small woman with light navy hair who seemed too shy to look at or speak to Archer when he set down the drinks. Taiga, however, was prepared to talk enough for both of them. “Archer! This is my new friend Caster! She just started working at my school. She barely knows anybody so I told her I’d bring her to the best izakaya in Miyama Town. And here we are! I hope you have lots of yummy food for us today.”

 _Caster_. Archer blinked and inspected the young woman a little more closely. “Nice to meet you, Miss. Call me Archer, and don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything. Do you have any special requests for food?”

“Oh, we’ll take whatever you bring us, right, Caster?” said Taiga. “Archer really is the best cook in town. You gotta trust him.”

Caster nodded, giving Archer a wary glance before looking down again. “That’s fine. Thank you.”

Taiga pushed Caster’s drink into her hand and said, “Cheers!” Then, almost choking as she swallowed too fast, she reached out and caught Archer’s shirt as she’d caught Shirou’s. “Hey, Archer. Is that new waiter your relative?”

“What?” said Archer incredulously. “Hah. As if. No. The owner hired him. I’ve never seen him before in my life.” He hesitated, because that was a bit of hyperbole he couldn’t quite back up. Archer’s memories were pretty spotty in places. “Why do you ask?”

Her mouth full of fish snacks and her eyes fixed on Archer’s face, Taiga pointed to the hair above her temple.

“Oh, that.” Archer, whose hair was entirely white, shot a glance at Shirou, who had a thin white streak diluting his auburn hair. “Coincidence.”

“Thought maybe it was a family trait. It’d explain why he looked so familiar, too.” Taiga shrugged. “Hey, bring us some more of these! They’re good!”

On his way back to the bar, Saber grabbed Archer by his shirt as well, and he wondered, not for the first time, if these women realized he’d stop if they used their words, too. But he smiled, because he’d known the blonde almost as long as he could remember. “What can I do for you, Saber?”

“Shirou said he’d make me something special if you let him use the kitchen. Are you going to?” Saber’s green eyes were intent on Archer’s face.

Archer’s smile flickered. “No. He was hired to wait tables, not cook.” Then he broke away, hurrying back behind the bar so he could chase Shirou away from the oven.

Once the kid was back on the other side of the bar and a few other customers had been served, Archer found a moment to look at the box of special envelops the owner had left him with. He flipped through them carefully, because the ones for himself, Saber, Rider and a couple others had already been opened before being returned. Then he found the one he was looking for, addressed to _Caster_.

Thoughtfully, he extracted it, tapping it against his hand as he looked at Taiga’s new friend. He’d have to get it to her without Taiga, who was a regular but didn’t have an envelope of her own, observing. Some patrons would have been discreet and polite even if they noticed such a delivery. Taiga was not one of them. She’d probably assume it was a love letter, and he could just hear her screech of inquisitive delight.

Yes. Better to be subtle. Maybe he’d be able to exchange a private word with Caster before she left for the evening. He’d have to keep an eye out. Unfortunately the new waiter’s eagerness was going to make that a lot more of a challenge.

About an hour later, the last of Archer’s regulars came in, laughing and joking together. His mouth twisted seeing them. He respected both Lancer and his indigo-haired companion, and of course valued them as customers, but they were by far his rowdiest patrons. They incited even the better-behaved to extremes.

“Saber!” called the indigo haired man in greeting.

The blonde woman bounced to her feet. “Other Saber!” Archer knew that wasn’t what was written on his envelope, and thought everybody else suspected. But nobody who knew the second Saber really cared. If he wanted to call himself Saber, who did it hurt? People had the same name all the time.

Archer’s gaze went to Shirou, who was leaning on the counter and apparently had the sense not to insert himself between friends who were acting like they hadn’t seen each other in months instead of a couple of days. It annoyed Archer, who wouldn’t have minded seeing the kid trip again. He flicked the back of the kid’s head and said, “Drinks. Get ‘em.”

The guys and Saber were so involved with an elaborate greeting that they didn’t even notice who delivered their drinks and snacks. They’d settled into dishing the latest dirt about the residents of Mount Miyama and Archer had just dispatched their meals when he caught Taiga sounding worried.

“Caster, what is it? You look like somebody stole the last shrimp!”

Glancing that way, Archer saw that Caster’s chest was heaving up and down, her face outraged as she stared toward the Saber-Saber-Lancer table. All her shyness had been replaced by the strong sense of a volcano about to erupt.

Shirou had just placed the platter of tempura on the Sabers’ table. “Hey, kid,” said Archer urgently, completely ready to toss him in to appease the volcano goddess.

But it was too late.

“ASSASSIN!!” shouted Caster, standing up, still holding the chopsticks she’d been eating with.

Other Saber froze, except for his eyes, which slid sideways toward Caster. Then he spun toward her in his chair, doing his best to play it cool. “Caster! Hiya! Didn’t see you there!”

“ _Obviously!”_ said Caster. She glared at Taiga, who was once again watching in wide-eyed fascination as she chewed on, Archer noticed, the last shrimp. “ _This_ _man_ is a _bum_ sleeping in a _tent_ in my garden! He gave me a sob story about how he had no place else to go! He doesn’t even have legal ID! He uses my bathroom and he doesn’t help out with the chores! I work so hard and he can’t even be bothered to get a part-time job! And yet somehow he finds the _time_ and _money_ to come here, where apparently everybody knows him?” She advanced on Other Saber, her chopsticks held threateningly.

“No, no, it’s not like that,” said Other Saber hastily. “I have lots of part-time jobs. It’s just none of them last very long!”

Caster, still advancing, snarled, “Then why aren’t you helping out with the bills? Why do you laze around all day and sleep until noon? Why don’t you ever do the dishes or cook something before I get home? Just how many people are you taking advantage of?”

Both Saber and Lancer conspicuously looked away from Other Saber, leaving him to face Caster’s wrath alone.

“Hey, I sleep in a tent and winter is coming!” said Other Saber. “And I don’t complain! I say thank you! And I chase off the raccoons and stray mutts who keep trying to go through your trash, which is _why_ I sleep in until noon, not that I get any thanks—” He flinched as Caster lunged at him with the chopsticks.

But she wasn’t aiming for him, but the platter of tempura Archer had just prepared. Angrily, she picked up one of the shrimps and ate it, while staring hard at Other Saber. Then she ate another,and then another, holding Other Saber’s gaze the whole time.

He leaned back in his chair, throwing up his hands. “Fine! Hey, are you two are just going to let her eat your shrimp?”

Lancer whistled through his teeth and then said, “Don’t really see how I can stop her, buddy.”

“I’m not really hungry myself,” said Saber, with a little cough. When Other Saber gave her an incredulous look, she shrugged, blushing a little.

“That’s right,” said Caster nastily and picked up the last shrimp. Instead of eating it, she swept back to her table with the grandeur of a queen, where she gave the shrimp to Taiga and slumped in her chair.

“Hey, thanks!” said Taiga. “Men, eh! To hell with them! Except Archer, who’s promised to become my househusband someday, right, Archer?”

Archer, who had done nothing more than chuckle at Taiga’s earnest, drunken pleas to make her the happiest of women (or at least give her the happiest of tummies), suddenly had an evil idea. “I’m way too old for you, Taiga. But Shirou here thinks he’s a cook too. Why don’t you come over to the bar and give him a trial run?”

Then he filled a new mug for Caster, whapped Shirou on the back, and said, “Time to strut your stuff. Cook her something nice, kid.”

“Hey!” called Saber in outrage. “How come—”

Archer ignored her and swapped places with Taiga as she descended on the startled and bemused waiter. He put down the beer next to Caster and slipped the envelope with her name on it from his apron as he sat down. She gave him a brooding look, as if he was going to betray her somehow too.

“Hey,” he said, and gave her his friendliest smile. She clearly didn’t appreciate it and he let it slide off his face as he shifted awkwardly. “Uh, so, I have something for you.” He laid the envelope on the table so that she could see her name written on it.

She barely glanced at it, drinking the beer instead. “If it’s the bill, you should give it to _him_ ,” she said accusingly.

“No, no,” Archer said hastily. “In fact, that envelope means you’ll be allowed to run an unlimited tab, just like Other Saber—I mean Assassin—does.”

“He _what?”_ said the volcano, sounding like another eruption was imminent.

Archer winced and tried again. “Look, do you remember coming to Fuyuki? How you got here, where you were before?”

She gave him a startled, worried look, an answer he didn’t actually need to go on talking. “Yeah. There’s a few of us around with… memory holes. My boss… well, I’ll be honest. I don’t know his motivations, but he’s interested in us.” He tapped the envelope. “And he seems to know who we are.”

Caster frowned and poked the envelope with a finger, as if testing if it was alive. Archer understood her wariness completely.

“Go ahead and read it. After that you can bring it back to me at the bar and I’ll hang onto it until you decide what to do.” Archer stood up and picked up an empty plate and mug.

Slowly, Caster picked up the envelope and opened it, and Archer politely stepped away to give her space. He knew what was inside, of course: a cryptic message and a blank golden card. The letter didn’t even mention the unlimited tab, because the owner had chosen to go for elegance and mystique over practical considerations.

_“That’s what I have you for, isn’t it, Archer?” The boy laughed as he fanned out the envelopes. “This will be fun.”_

_Archer glanced down at his own letter, although really it was far too brief to be called that._

_When you know what you’re looking for_

_bring this to me_

_and make a wish._

“Archer!” said Taiga. “Archer, Archer, Shirou’s making me kara-age! Fried chicken, Archer!”

He jolted out of the memory and glanced up as he approached the bar. “Am I off the hook?”

Taiga gave him a thoughtful stare as she chewed and swallowed. “I don’t know. It’s pretty good but so is yours, and he’s a kid.”

Something in Archer’s heart twinged, but _God_ was he used to random unexplained emotional reactions by now. Each of the regulars triggered them now and then, and Taiga’s mixed of perception and goofiness did it the most. He patted her head roughly. “Easier to train a younger man right.” Then he leaned past her and took one of her bites of fried chicken for himself.

Shirou gave him a stare that was both challenging and nervous as Archer tasted his work. When, after an honest appraisal, Archer grudgingly nodded, he looked so relieved that Archer wanted to whap him again. Instead he said, “You’ll do in a pinch, kid. For kara-age, at least. But we really do need a waiter more than another chef, so get back out there.”

Absently he reached down for another bite, but the plate was gone. Taiga had taken it and fled back to her table with Caster, laughing.

As their busy hour passed, the regulars started drifting away. Taiga left before Caster, who kept nursing a beer and brooding over her envelope until near closing. Saber and Lancer left before Other Saber, who slouched so low in his chair that he seemed in danger of falling out.

Rider finished reading her textbook, and came by to chat briefly with Archer before leaving. “Another new one? She’s fierce. I think I like her.”

“She’s got layers, that’s for sure,” said Archer as he wiped down the bar.

Casually, lining up her books in her bag, Rider said, “So how many unopened envelopes are left?”

Archer hesitated before answering. “Two.”

“You sure you don’t want me to help you look for the owners?”

“Nope. They have to come here. That’s the game the boss wants to play, so that’s the game we play too.” He nodded at the book bag. “Find anything useful for yourself?”

With a sigh, Rider said, “Maybe? I don’t know. Some things seem familiar but tying them together… well, sometimes it seems like it’d be easier drunk.”

“You know, this _is_ a bar,” Archer pointed out. “Drunk can be arranged.”

Rider quirked a smile at the bartender. “Only if you join us, Archer. Maybe after hours sometime.” Then, waving, she drifted out of the izakaya.

At last, Caster stood up, leaving the envelope with its contents replaced behind her on the table. She only swayed a little, but Archer lifted the phone to call her a ride anyhow because it was late enough that she shouldn’t walk home alone. But he replaced the phone when she said loudly, “Well, stray mutt? Are you coming or not?”

Other Saber startled out of his gloom so badly he fell out of his chair. Scrambling to his feet, he looked up into Caster’s glare. “What?”

“Come on! I have problems with raccoons and other annoyances! I can’t be up all night myself chasing them away.” She trudged toward the door. With a sudden spring in his step, Other Saber followed her.

“And do some damn dishes. Learn to make me lunch. You have to do more than bark all night, you know.”

“Right,” said Other Saber, clasping his hands behind his head. “Dishes. You know, if we eat here, Archer and Shirou do all the dishes.”

Caster gave him a narrow look. “Not for breakfast.” She waved at the door and Other Saber opened it, bowing her out. Before he followed her, he tossed a rakish grin over his shoulder at Shirou and Archer.

Then they were gone, and another night at Gil’s Izakaya was over.


	2. Looks Like Freedom, Feels Like Death

The rain and chill that autumn afternoon kept most people out of the Mount Miyama shopping district, which meant the izakaya down the little alley had even fewer afternoon diners than usual. It didn’t bother Archer, though. Paying the bills was the responsibility of the golden-haired boy who owned the establishment. All he had to do was take care of the customers.

That afternoon, he occupied himself setting up some more time-consuming tasty treats for the regulars he knew he’d be getting that evening. No matter the weather, some of them always showed up. But to his surprise, Shirou, his waiter and unwelcome apprentice was too restless to attach himself to Archer’s elbow to observe. He kept ranging to the door and looking through the narrow windows before turning away again to attend to their few customers.

So when the door jangled open and a family party poured into the izakaya calling for Shirou, Archer wasn’t really surprised. The waiter gave him a furtive look before trying to calm down the group of his… friends? family? Archer found he wasn’t sure. There were two extremely attractive blonde women and three young girls, and none of them seemed to have a family resemblance to either Shirou or each other.

No, that wasn’t true, Archer realized as umbrellas were leaned against the wall and raincoats doffed. Two of the little girls looked like sisters, although admittedly sisters who’d spent vastly different amounts of time in the summer sun.

“Shirou! So this is where you work? What a nice establishment!” said the blonde woman with drill curls and a foreign accent. She gave Shirou a smile that was distinctly unsisterly as he pulled out a chair for her. But the smile Shirou returned was strained, and after he’d seated the whole party, he came to Archer with an embarrassed expression.

“I didn’t really think they’d _all_ come, sir. I’m sorry.”

Archer raised an eyebrow. “ _All?_ ”

Shirou’s shoulders hunched a little and he muttered, “I guess it could be worse.” His gaze went distant and then he shivered, as if he contemplated some deeper horror.

His embarrassment convinced Archer. As he filled mugs with beer for the adults and juice for the kids, he asked casually, “Your family?”

With a sideways glance at the group, Shirou said, “Sort of? It gets a little complicated.” With a little shrug, he picked up the tray of snacks and drinks Archer had prepared and delivered them back to the big table.

Archer leaned against the counter, watching curiously. If he had a family of his own, he didn’t remember it, and such groups were uncommon visitors to the izakaya. The taller blonde woman was very quiet, although she seemed responsive to the needs of the children. Shirou was most attentive to the dark-haired child, while the shorter, louder blonde woman was obviously the leader of the group. The sisters—were they twins? They argued about almost everything, with the darker one constantly teasing her more serious-minded sister.

It wasn’t until Shirou said, “Boss? What are we giving them to eat?” that Archer realized he’d been staring at the family for far longer than he’d intended.

No. Not at the family. At the darker twin.

His skin prickling, Archer shook himself and turned to his stove to finish the prep of the fried tofu and yakitori. But his hands moved out of habit, without his usual focus on his work. He kept seeing that little form smirking at her sister in his mind’s eye.

He pushed it away, tried to focus on the food again. But every time she spoke, he heard her. Her name was Kuro, and her sister was Illya. Illya was an ordinary girl: cute, as little girls were cute. But Kuro had an edge to her, like part of her was a knife. He wanted to get closer to her to try and understand why—

God, what was wrong with him? She was a _little girl_. If he was going to be dwelling on any of the guests, it ought to be the tall, quiet blonde, who had pretty much everything a man could want with sprinkles on top.

A piece of the fried tofu fell from his spider skimmer back into the pan and boiling oil splashed his hand. He winced, biting back his more severe reaction to the pain, and then grimly finished plating the food.

“You okay, boss?” asked Shirou as he arranged the plates so he could pick them all up, his gaze going to Archer’s burned hand.

Archer opened his mouth to say he was fine; he’d had plenty of burns, and it was what any cook deserved for inattention—and then he caught sight of Kuro looking at him over Shirou’s shoulder. Her dark-ringed golden eyes met his and the _pull_ he felt toward her stole his breath away.

A cold sweat broke out along his brow and nausea twisted his stomach. Abruptly he stripped off his apron and slid it onto the counter as he said, “Actually, I’m not. I need a walk. You’re in charge, kid.” Then, his head low so he couldn’t accidentally look at her again, he made his way out into the rainy afternoon.

The clouds were resting between downpours, currently providing just enough of a drizzle so that nobody got the wrong idea about what kind of day it was. Archer walked aimlessly for a moment, licking his burn absently as he tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. This wasn’t like him…

…was it?

How could he know? He had no idea who he was, or where he’d come from. He only knew that he was Archer, that he hadn’t always been in Fuyuki, and that the kid called Gil had hired him to manage his izakaya. Where he’d been before this year, who he’d cared for, what he’d liked and disliked: it was all a blank to him. He’d wanted to recover what he’d lost, but for the first time it occurred to him that maybe that veil hid nightmares.

_She’d looked at him curiously, as if she’d noticed his stare._

Archer sped up, hurrying past little knots of rain-coated pedestrians. He passed by the florist’s shop where Lancer worked, and half-noticed him presenting a rose to an alarmed-looking woman in a black suit, while another woman, white-haired, with an umbrella, giggled behind her fingers.

Lancer noticed him and called, “Archer?” but Archer shook his head and kept going. Lancer was a patron, and one of those with envelopes, but not somebody Archer wanted to talk to right now.

Instead he kept going, moving in a ground-eating lope that wasn’t quite a run until he reached the antique shop where Rider worked. He burst through the door so quickly that he startled the lavender-haired woman into splashing the tea she’d been about to sip onto her book.

“Archer!” said Rider, her eyes wide with surprise. She glanced down at her stained book and then up at Archer again. He stalked past old armoires and vintage lamps to her desk and after a tiny hesitation, she shoved some receipts into the book and closed it. “What’s wrong?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he saw Kuro and then opened them again, staring at the scarred and stained surface of the non-vintage desk. “Rider, I need you to tell me what’s wrong with me.”

After a moment, Rider said, “Okay. I’m going to let the opportunity for a joke slide on by, because you’re clearly upset. What happened?”

He glanced up and she adjusted her glasses, waiting patiently. “This kid came into the izakaya and…” He wondered how to explain it so it didn’t sound bad, and then wondered why he would even try to do that. “I can’t stop looking at her, or thinking about her.”

A flicker of doubt came into Rider’s eyes and Archer realized he’d failed a crucial part of the explanation. He held his hand out at his waist. “When I say _a kid_ , I mean ten, eleven. She’s like this tall,” and gave Rider another look, silently pleading for her comprehension.

Rider let out her breath slowly. “I see.” She was silent for a moment.

Archer shifted his weight, waiting for her judgement. He’d known Rider almost as long as he’d been running the izakaya. They were the oldest of friends by his standards, and he thought by hers as well. She was also the most regular of his patrons. If he’d been willing to wait, he could have talked about this with her that evening.

But waiting would have made everything worse. He couldn’t trust himself, but he trusted Rider. She read constantly. She’d know what was going on.

“Can you tell me anything about her?” asked Rider finally.

Archer lowered his eyes, staring at the whitening burn on the back of his hand. “More than I should be able to. Her name’s Kuro. She’s got a twin sister—who I don’t give a damn about, by the way. She’s…” He stopped, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. This isn’t about her. She’s just a kid. This is about something being wrong with _me_.”

“All right,” said Rider. “Tell me about you, then. Tell me how she makes you feel.”

He gave her an agonized look. Her own gaze was remote, even merciless, and that made him feel a little better. If something _was_ wrong with him, she wouldn’t be blinded by their friendship. “I keep wanting to get closer to her. I keep thinking about how she moves. It’s like I know her…”

Rider placed her palms flat on the desk. “Do you enjoy looking at her?”

He shuddered, and she caught his injured hand, cupping her palm over his burn. “I’m serious, Archer. Don’t panic, _think_. Do you enjoy looking at this girl?”

And for the first time since he’d realized his abrupt obsession, he took a mental step back and analyzed his own reaction. Slowly, he said, “Not… not like I enjoy looking at… certain other people. But I do want to look at her more. No… that’s not right.”

He met Rider’s gaze again. “It _hurts_ to look at her, but… like she’s something I want that’s beyond my reach.” He shivered again, hearing his own words.

Intently, Rider said, “Like it might hurt to look at something you’ve lost? A yearning?”

“I don’t know. Sure, I guess.” He pulled his hand away from Rider’s and put it over his face.

A note of gentleness crept into Rider’s voice as she said, “Archer, has it occurred to you that you simply may have known her before? Perhaps she’s connected to whomever you used to be.”

Archer’s brows drew together and he lowered his hand to stare at Rider. But no, that didn’t work. “She’s a twin, Rider. If I knew her, I must have known her sister, too. But I don’t feel the same way. Her sister is just a kid. If she didn’t look like Kuro, I wouldn’t recognize her on the street.”

“Hmm,” said Rider. “Not necessarily.” She gave him a little smile. “Outside of cooking, you’ve got a pretty limited imagination, Archer.”

While he was deciding whether that was an insult or a compliment, she leaned down to pick up her bag and slid her book into it. Then she stood up.

“What are you doing?” he asked, confused.

“Closing early. You’re the third person who’s come in all day. I’ll come back with you to the izakaya and see what I can figure out there.”

Gratitude and affection washed over Archer, so strong he almost leaned over the desk to kiss Rider (who was _definitely_ one of the people he enjoyed looking at, way more than any blonde). He barely stopped himself, and _only_ because old friends were hard to find. But the urge was so strong, so adult, so _distinct_ from how Kuro made him feel that relief surged through him, too.

“Thank you,” he said instead as she came around the desk. “I’d offer you drinks on the house, but…” He shrugged wryly.

Rider looked like she was about to say something, but then she shook her head. “I’m happy to help. I just hope I can.”

He held the door for her and waited as she locked up. Rider glanced up at the drizzling sky and then opened an umbrella large enough to share with Archer. They walked together back down the main road of Mount Miyama, Rider’s long legs easily keeping up with Archer’s own ground-eating stride. As they passed Lancer’s florist shop, Archer noticed his eyes widen and then narrow speculatively and knew he’d be needing some kind of explanation later that night.

He opened the door to the izakaya preparing for the worst. But nothing had burned, including the building, which seemed like the best he could hope for. The desperate look Shirou threw him was also gratifying, and he focused on that as he headed behind the bar to take control of the kitchen again, leaving Rider to her own devices.

Shirou hissed, “Here! Take over!” and shoved the skimmer at Archer. At first Archer couldn’t see what he was so panicked by—everything seemed to be going well—but then Shirou added, “The girls were about to start trying to _wait tables_.”

He raced out of the kitchen over to the big table where he reseated the the little girls who’d been fluttering around it holding plates and giggling. Then Kuro cast another glance at Archer: half-amused, half-apprehensive, and entirely too aware of him and he turned determinedly back to the cooking.

When he glanced over a little later, as he took another order from Shirou, he saw that Rider had seated herself at the little table beside the group instead of at her usual spot. She sat right next to the tall blonde, but she was effortlessly talking with Illya, her head tilted appealingly as sheencouraged the children to tell her about themselves.

Once again, an affectionate warmth for the woman swept over Archer. _Definitely_ drinks forever, on him, and since the owner had already made that unnecessary, maybe a special meal just for her.

_Maybe breakfast?_

He shoved that thought away and concentrated instead on finding some expensive tuna he’d stored in the freezer for a special occasion. Rider had always seemed fond of fish, and this was the very best he could offer her.

As the afternoon waned, Archer overheard Shirou finally convincing his noisy family to move on so as not to interfere with the ‘real’ customers. He stalwartly refused to look over his shoulder until he heard the door slam behind them, cutting off the constant flow of feminine voices. A moment later, Rider said behind him, “Well, that was interesting.”

She sat at the bar as he turned around to present her with a plate of tuna sashimi. With a little smile, she tried a piece and her eyebrows went up. “Archer, this is the good stuff.”

Archer shrugged. “Glad you like it.” He eyed Shirou as he carried dirty dishes into the back, and then leaned forward to ask softly, “What did you think?”

“Mmm,” said Rider. “Nice kids. Illya’s the normal one, Miyu reminds me of myself, and Kuro…” Rider trailed off, eating another piece of sashimi. “She reminds me of you, Archer. You weren’t imagining that. This is _really_ good, by the way.” She ate a third piece.

“How is she like me?” asked Archer intently. For a moment even looking at Rider’s face couldn’t stop the image of Kuro’s eyes from dancing before him.

Rider thought for a moment and tapped the plate. “Not like this. Like those.” She waved a hand at the posters of various legendary edged weapons Archer had decorated the izakaya with. “You’re a great cook, but when you start getting fancy with your knives, you’re something else.”

“But she didn’t have a knife,” protested Archer uncomfortably.

With a sigh, Rider said, “I know. It’s just a feeling I had. And something in her eyes. She’s gone through things her twin never has.” She paused, and then said, “Look, I don’t think you need to worry about yourself. There really is some mystery about the girl.” Her cheeks reddened unexpectedly. “And I have Angelica’s phone number. We talked about getting coffee sometime. I’ll try to bring her by here afterwards.”

“Is that the tall one?” asked Archer, surprised. “She seemed quiet.”

“She is,” said Rider. “But I like her.”

Archer nodded slowly. “All right. Thank you. Want some more tuna?”

Rider’s eyes brightened, and suddenly Archer felt better about his whole day. “I shouldn’t… but yes, please.”

After he prepared another serving for her, Rider took the plate and went to her usual table, and it became just another evening at the izakaya. Caster and Taiga came in like they usually did this time of the week, but Taiga grabbed Saber as soon as she arrived, pulling her into a huddle with Caster.

Still later, Lancer arrived. He sat by himself for about half an hour, eating a proper meal in an unusually thoughtful silence, before rising to his feet to drag an extra chair over to the women’s huddle. Whatever they’d been apparently talking about hadn’t been too private, because Taiga welcomed him enthusiastically, calling for more beer for her best beer buddy.

Still later, Other Saber came in, which was a bit unusual. Ever since Caster had started coming to the izakaya, Other Saber had been occasionally skipping nights, always when Caster was present. Archer had the vague idea that he was trying to give her a break from his presence, since she always seemed a little more irritable when he was around, even if they rarely interacted before closing time.

Even more unusually, Other Saber was already on the far side of tipsy when he seated himself at the bar and snagged a dish of salted edamame. He moved steadily, but his eyes were wide as they only ever became after an evening of serious drinking. Archer studied him thoughtfully and then filled a mug with the lowest-alcohol brew he had. “How’ve you been, Saber?”

“Terrible,” said Other Saber quietly. He stared off into space as he nibbled his edamame, and then gulped at his beer. The face he made at the mug made Archer self-conscious but not the least bit guilty. Other Saber had enough problems without getting falling-down drunk while Caster was around.

When, a little bit later he slid a stack of bacon sandwiches over to Other Saber, the indigo-haired man tried to give him a grateful smile that fell short of the ‘smile’ part.

“Got something on your mind?” inquired Archer, wiping down the bar.

Other Saber finished his beer. “Just trying to figure out how to tell Caster I lost another part-time job. I can see it now. She’s going to look at me in that icy way and ask me if I’m losing jobs on purpose so I don’t have to move out.”

Archer considered this and then, raising an eyebrow, said, “Are you?”

“What the hell, Archer? No, I’m not!” He hesitated. “I mean… I’d rather not move out. I’m fine with the tent. But it’d be nice to… be appreciated sometimes.” He fell silent, brooding, occasionally looking over his shoulder at Caster’s table. She’d adjusted her chair so her back was to him, but Archer had noticed she was now facing one of the reflective glass-covered pictures on the wall.

Finally Archer asked, “Why do you keep losing jobs anyhow? You can’t be any worse a worker than Lancer and he’s holding down three last time I checked.”

Other Saber’s mouth twisted bitterly. “You’ll laugh.” He winced as Taiga did just that in response to something Caster murmured.

Archer gave him a wary look. “Is it funny?”

“Nah. It’s stupid. Weird and stupid.” Other Saber sighed, and Archer heard himself hesitating to talk to Rider in that sigh.

He hesitated, and then filled a tumbler with ice and shochu and slid it over to Other Saber.“I won’t laugh.”

“You’d better not.” He drank half the shochu at once.

“I won’t,” said Archer patiently.

Other Saber eyed him before his shoulders slumped. “I keep getting distracted by… birds.”

“Birds,” said Archer carefully. “You mean… birds?”

“Yes! Birds! Flappy, chirping, shitting birds!” Other Saber pressed the chill glass against his temple and closed his eyes.

“There were birds at your job?” Archer kept his voice soothing, so soothing that Other Saber opened his eyes and gave him an angry look.

“Sometimes there are. Sometimes there aren’t. Doesn’t matter. I keep thinking about them anyhow. How they fly. The patterns they make in the sky. The way they move. I hate the things now and I still can’t stop thinking about them.”

“Oh,” said Archer, and then, “ _Oh._ ”

“What do you mean _oh?_ ” demanded Other Saber suspiciously.

Archer thought about explaining about Kuro, but he couldn’t. Not when he still understood so little, not to Other Saber, who wasn’t a friend as Rider was. He couldn’t even bring himself to give the comfort Rider had given him: that maybe the birds were somehow related to Other Saber’s past. She made it sound clever and insightful, but he’d just make it sound stupid.

Instead he nodded at Other Saber. “I’ll fix it for tonight, okay?”

“What do you mean? I’m not going to lie to her,” said Other Saber warningly. “That _really_ doesn’t work for me.”

“I’ll just show her you’re useful in other ways. It’ll work. Trust me.” Then Archer got out the rest of the expensive tuna and turned it into a dish for Caster’s whole table. He felt so cheerful about doing something helpful he didn’t even mind when Shirou started getting underfoot asking questions about his process.

Then he personally delivered the platter to Caster’s table, murmuring, “Compliments of Other Saber.”

Four pairs of eyes turned to him, three of which were used to eating on the house. Taiga fell on the food first and after one bite started crowing in wordless delight. Then Lancer and Saber tried some, and finally Caster took a piece. The latter three knew that while they could eat for free, _what_ they ate was mostly up to Archer’s discretion. He’d accept orders for common dishes on the menu but anything off menu—anything special and expensive—was a treat even with their privileges.

Archer watched closely as Caster’s eyes widened and she grabbed another piece. Before she ate it, she glanced over her shoulder at where Other Saber slumped at the bar. Her eyes softened in a way Archer would bet Other Saber never saw, and she whispered, “Did he have a bad day?”

Archer shrugged neutrally. “Couldn’t say. But he’s why you’re getting the good stuff. Enjoy, folks.” Then he strolled back to the bar, gave Other Saber a discreet thumbs up, and set about turning the scraps into ara yaki, a broiled, salted chef’s snack that he split with Shirou and Other Saber.

Later that evening, when Caster rose to leave for the evening, she paused, looking at Other Saber for a long moment. Then she said, “Assassin, come on. Time to go home.”

Other Saber lifted his head. “Caster, I—”

“Hey,” she said, a little of her usual sharpness with him slipping back into her voice. “I had a nice night after a hard day at work. Don’t ruin it by doing the kicked dog act. Just come home and chase off the raccoons.” Her expression darkened. “I saw some crows this morning, too.”

“Birds,” muttered Other Saber and stood up. “Birds aren’t going to be a problem.”

“Yes? Good. I knew you were useful for something.” She nodded regally at the door, and Other Saber, suddenly moving a lot more like himself, strolled over and opened it for her. Before he followed her out, he gave Archer one final look, just a hint of a smile in his eyes.

Archer smiled to himself and finished cleaning up for the evening with Shirou. After that, he sent Shirou home, did some prep for the next day, and took the kitchen trash out the staff entrance to the narrow alley…

…where he found a small, dark-skinned girl with pale hair crouched against the far wall, wearing a costume of red and black rags.

He stared at her for a moment, and then put the bag of trash in the dumpster before turning back to see if she was still there.

She was, and watching him intently, a long shadow cast by her small form in the bright lamplight from the main street. But the little lamp above the door made her eyes glow. The air itself seemed to crackle with the surreality of the night.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Isn’t it a little late for you to be out, Kuro?”

Tapping her lower lip, she rose to her feet. “That’s not important.”

“I bet your parents would disagree,” he pointed out, wondering if he could find Shirou’s phone number inside.

Her expression darkened. “Them. I didn’t come here to talk about them.”

Archer sighed and leaned against the door, accepting the inevitable. “What did you come for?”

She tilted her head to one side and then the other, moving in a half-circle around him in an almost predatory way. It should have bothered him, made him even more uncomfortable, but somehow it didn’t. She moved like a warrior and he felt something answer from within, a peculiar sensation that only grew stronger as she studied him.

“Did you come from another world?” she finally asked. “Are… are you Shirou from another world?”

It was the strangest question he’d ever been asked, and the izakaya owner had asked him more than a few. He stared at her, and remembered Taiga asking if Shirou was his relative.

A strange question, but he was in a strange situation. Rider had told him enough that he knew that amnesia as modern science understood it simply didn’t happen, and yet he and most of the regulars had all experienced it.

So he thought about the question carefully before coming to his conclusion. He had some things in common with the kid, and possibly he was from another world, but was he the same person? Absolutely not. “I’m not Shirou, even from another world. Why do you ask?”

She took a deep breath. “Because I feel toward you like I feel toward him. But… more. A lot more. Like… like I’m part of you.” Her voice turning bitter, she added, “Like I’m a shadow again and you’re the real thing.”

_Again._

She spoke like she’d had experience as a shadow before, and he thought about how she was the mysterious dark to Illya’s normal-girl light.

And all at once, Archer _understood_ the nature of the connection between them. He wasn’t sure he could put it into words; he had no idea how it worked; but the _relief_ of understanding that _somehow_ she really was connected to what he’d lost made him laugh out loud, covering his face to hide his relief.

When he lowered his hands, she was glaring at him. “Why are you laughing?”

He regarded her for a long moment, thinking of how she’d laughed and teased her sister that afternoon. However she’d come to be, she was certainly real now. As real as he was. He slid down the door, instinctively reaching for a way to reassure her. “When’s your birthday, Kuro?”

“July 20th,” she snapped.

“Well, there you go,” he told her. “You have a birthday and I don’t. If anybody’s the shadow, I am.”

She took a few steps closer to him and then stopped. Her hand brushed over her heart. Then she twisted her hands and brought into being two beautiful curved daggers, one black, one white. “You don’t…. you don’t want these back?”

He brushed his fingers over the white blade and a nearly electric jolt ran through him. Not a memory, but a _knowing_. _Déjà vu_. A recognition so deep that his body responded even when his mind was empty. He _knew_ why she was dangerous. and that he was even more dangerous. And he knew those blades.

“Can you use them?” he asked softly.

She gave him a scornful look, pulling Byakuya away. He stood up again, watching her expectantly. She vanished, reappeared above him halfway up the wall, appeared higher, then lunged toward him, appearing and disappearing. Kanshou sheared away a tuft of hair on his left side and she flipped away, once again blinking higher.

But on her second dive, he caught her wrist before Byakuya could trim the right side of his hair, his own hand moving in a blur without thought or conscious effort on his part.

They stared at each other for a long moment, her tiny arm in his big hand, her feet braced lightly against his chest. Slowly, she brought her other blade around toward his neck, and he caught that arm too. It wasn’t hard, but it was symbolic, somehow.

And then he let her go, pushing her into a flip she completed on her own before landing on her feet. The Married Blades vanished.

Abruptly, Archer felt very tired. It had been a long day, and the way this girl’s eyes burned made him feel… sad. In some way, her existence depended on part of him, and it wasn’t a good part. It wasn’t a part that a child ought to have. And yet…

“Go home, Kuro. This is all… nothing. Meaningless. I’m just a cook.”

She stared at him another moment, and then, moving with that supernatural speed, she was gone.

Slowly, Archer went back inside, where he poured himself a glass of soju, pulled out the box of envelopes and opened his. As he slowly emptied the glass, he toyed with the stiff, heavy golden card. It was blank, as they were all blank, except for an elaborate engraved border.

In the end, after he’d caught and released her, she’d looked at him like she expected him to claim something from her. He still didn’t quite know what it was. But he knew, with increasing certainty as he drank, that he never, ever would.

Finally, when the glass was empty, he sighed and put the card back in the envelope and the envelope back in the box. Then he wiped down the bar one more time, put his glass in the dishwasher, and returned to his prep tasks for the next day of running an izakaya.


	3. Sorrow and a Sense Of Overtime

After the izakaya had closed and Lancer had spent a while goofing around with Saber and Other Saber in the midnight park, he strolled toward his apartment, whistling under his breath as he listened to the distant barking of dogs. He liked walking at this time of night, when the streets were empty except for the lost and the troublemakers.

A woman crossed the street down the block, a woman he recognized. Lancer’s whistle faded as he contemplated whether she qualified as _lost_ or _trouble._ Then, shaking his head, he changed course to follow her. Either way, she was worth watching.

Bazett McRemitz, walking down the street in her man’s suit, was exactly the kind of warrior woman that Lancer didn’t like: hard on the outside, soft and melting on the inside. Women like Bazett required far too much maintenance you had to fight to make them accept. The problem was, they were so damn _delicious_ once you broke through that crispy shell. That was why he preferred, when possible, to peel them out of their shell (and their clothes) in such a way that they never wanted to go back.

She looked over her shoulder once as he prowled behind her, and turned down an alley. He shrugged and approached the corner, managing complete nonchalance as she leapt out and got him in a neck hold.

“Hiya, lass,” he drawled.

“Oh,” she said in disgust. “It’s you.” She released him with a little shove.

Of course, there were limits on what was appropriate when it came to peeling away clothes. The unknown secrets of his past had given him urges that did _not_ fit his surroundings. With Bazett, he relied on giving her flowers every time she passed his shop. She hated it, but when he flashed his grin at her, she couldn’t just walk away. He enjoyed making her blush, and positively cherished the day she stopped throwing the flowers away as she walked down the street.

Lancer couldn’t tell in the dim light if she was blushing now. Her mouth twisted in irritation but that didn’t mean much. He touched her cheek, to see if her face was warm, and she jerked her head away. “Why are you following me?”

With a shrug, Lancer said, “A woman like you walks around alone late at night, _some_ man is going to follow you. Better me than somebody else.”

Her nose twitched. “You’re drunk, aren’t you.” She sighed, lowering her gaze for a moment. “I have time to walk you home.”

_That_ was a bad idea, although it took Lancer a moment to remember why. He definitely wanted more from Bazett than blushes. It wasn’t just a tumble in the sheets, either. Her melting softness would be a very good prize, but before he could claim it, he needed something else first, something that bothered him to want so much.

It would have been easier if she _had_ been a warrior opposing him on the field of battle. He could have killed her, and taken the earrings from her corpse as a trophy.

She wrapped her hand around his arm and tried to pull him along. He resisted easily, staring at her, so annoyingly wrapped in that mannish suit, wearing those fascinating earrings.

He _had_ to have them. It was disconcerting how obsessed he was by the accessories. In the year or so of his active memories, he’d never been materialistic. His tiny apartment was barely furnished because he never went home except to sleep. His clothing was utilitarian. Apparently he’d worn earrings in the past, but he didn’t own any now and he hadn’t wanted any either, until Bazett had walked down the street, silver flashing at her ears.

“How about I walk _you_ home instead?” he suggested. That seemed less complicated, hospitality-wise.

Tartly she said, “I think you have the wrong idea.”

They called to the streak of acid that burned within him. Lancer managed three part-time jobs by being a persistent, hard worker who took pride in his performance. But the acid that sometimes boiled his blood would have lost him every job if he didn’t have friends like Saber and Other Saber. Their friendly back-alley brawls and drunken competitions provided an outlet without which he’d have far less self-control. Acquiring the earrings would only make him wilder.

Bazett sighed. “You’re staring at my earrings again.”

“Who, me?” protested Lancer, instinctively, and stumbled when she tugged him hard.

“Walk, damn you,” she barked. He gave up and walked. It was nice having a woman cling to his arm, anyhow, even if it was Bazett. She stalked along beside him, her stride almost as long as his despite her shorter legs. “You are an aggravating and unsubtle man.”

He couldn’t be bothered to reply to that, instead concentrating on walking close to her without running her over. He could feel the furnace-like warmth of her body all along his side.

After a silence, she blew out her breath. “You only ever look at me for these earrings. So I’m going to give you as pair of your own. That way you’ll stop pestering me every time I pass the flower shop.”

_Exactly_ the kind of warrior woman Lancer didn’t like. If she thought this would make him give up his pursuit of her—

—well, it would depend on how she played her cards. He wanted her earrings that much. _Her_ earrings, not some counterfeit. But copies could be useful somehow.

Her step hitched and she said, “Just come along home and I’ll give them to you.” He could see the deep flush in her cheeks this time, and felt very cheerful. Not very good at negotiation, was his Bazett. The silly chit thought a simple gift would discourage him? Hah. He’d have a whole _bouquet_ for her next time she went past his shop.

She guided him unerringly toward his block of apartments and only as they approached the building did it occur to him to wonder, “Hey, how come you know where I live?”

The flat look she gave him made him chuckle. _Warrior women_. “You’ve probably been inside to look around, too, haven’t you?”

Instead of answering him, she reached into her messenger bag and fingered something within. “I only had these made because you like my earrings _so_ much, and I… they mean a lot to me, but I think they’d… suit you.” She gave him a stern look. “The flowers have nothing to do with it.” In a flurry of motion, she put a cheap cardboard jewelry box into his hand.

His eyes widened instantly. Even through the box he could feel that what she’d handed him wasn’t a counterfeit. And yet what she wore— He fumbled open the box and ran his fingers over the pair of silver ovaloids within.

_Ah._ One was genuine, her own earring, and one was a copy. She’d given him half her own set, and disguised it by pairing it with the fake.

Lancer’s breath breath came shallowly as he raised his gaze to stare at Bazett. She’d backed a half-dozen steps away, as if she’d been intending to flee while he was distracted, but made the mistake of turning to watch. Her eyes rounded as she met his own, and she swallowed. “Just copies. Because you liked mine so much.”

“You like Easter lilies,” he told her. “Far more than roses, lass. I saw that. I can see you’re lying now.”

She shook her head. “Just enjoy them and stop bothering me so much.” With an abortive wave of her gloved hand, she turned and walked swiftly away.

The acid in Lancer’s blood burned, pushing him to chase her down, defeat her, get the truth out of her. He resisted, as he always resisted with everybody but Saber and Other Saber. Instead he went inside his apartment and sat on the floor, looking at the box. The real earring seemed to sing to him.

Very slowly, he picked it up and attached it to his ear.

***

Late the next morning, Archer strolled through Mount Miyama prior to heading to work at the izakaya. As usual, he kept an eye out for deals on meat and produce he could use to make the day’s specials. When he went past the fish market where Lancer normally worked that day, he saw the harried owner working alone, and stopped to investigate as well as pick up some amberjack.

“Lancer? He stopped by to tell me he was taking the day off.” The owner wiped his forehead. “Wish he’d warned me but he’s too good a worker for me to lose permanently. Good worker, good man. I saw him give a sandwich to the Bear before he went off.”

Archer picked out four fish and the owner began to wrap them. “The Bear?” He lived and worked in Mount Miyama, but he hardly ever took the time to appreciate any part of it other than the food shops.

“Oh yeah. A bum that keeps showing up.” The owner shook his head compassionately. “The neighborhood association keeps trying to get him a part-time job and a place to sleep, but he’s not all there upstairs.” The owner tapped his head. “Makes it hard to get through to him. He’s real big, and he can be a little scary, but Lancer and Other Saber seem to be able to talk him down.”

Bemused, Archer accepted his wrapped fish and put it in his shopping bag. He felt like he knew his regulars so well, and yet clearly—

Oh. That probably explained why Other Saber sometimes stopped by right after opening to order an unusually large takeout lunch: plentiful Western food instead of his usual lighter classical Japanese choices.

Archer decided he’d have to track down this Bear himself sometime. If nothing else, the man’s situation reminded him of himself before young Gil had found him and hired him. But for now, he had an izakaya to open, and food to prep.

It was a lazy afternoon, and Archer spent some of it instructing his waiter and unofficial apprentice Shirou in how to properly slice fish. The boy had something he _called_ a technique, but Archer considered more like a collection of bad habits glued together by spit and determination. He’d actually been _proud_ of his skills, which was what had prompted Archer to test and then school him. By the time Saber, usually the first of his regulars, arrived, Shirou’s welcoming smile had a little twitch to it, and Archer felt a deep sense of peace and contentment.

Saber looked around at the izakaya’s guests and then seated herself at the bar. “Hey, Archer.”

He slid her a beer and a small dish of pickled vegetables. “Saber. How have you been?”

“Today was odd,” said Saber, and paused to crunch on a few pickles. “I found this woman sneaking around the high school. I think she was trying to spy on some of the students.”

“A parent?” suggested Archer.

Saber frowned. “Maybe. Though the students she was watching definitely weren’t hers. She mentioned daughters in elementary school…” She shook her head and drank her beer. “I should have reported her, but I let her talk me out of it.” Earnestly she looked at Archer, as if he was her judge. “She didn’t seem dangerous, though. Just weird. She had beautiful hands.”

Archer shrugged indulgently. “You’re the teacher, Saber.”

Saber took another drink and mumbled into the mug, “…she may have been flirting with me…”

The door slammed open and Archer glanced over to acknowledge another guest and see that Shirou was tending to them before returning a steady gaze to Saber, who still had the mug to her mouth, as if hiding behind it. He understood suddenly why Saber was confiding the strange event in him rather than her usual friends. Other Saber and Lancer were likely to have definite, loud opinions on the idea of a lovely woman hitting on Saber.

While he knew how to keep quiet, Archer wasn’t exempt from having opinions himself. Saber’s small, muscular form and delicate features were very different from Rider’s lush elegance, but the thought of her entwined with another woman was still heady and distracting.

“Did she get your number?” asked Archer, as disinterestedly as he could.

“No, no, no,” said Saber hastily, lowering her nearly empty mug. “No, of course not. That would have been totally inappropriate, Archer!”

“But you wouldn’t mind seeing her around again?”

Saber’s eyes flashed and she pushed the mug at him. “Don’t be an idiot.”

He took the mug and refilled it. “Look, if you do see her and you want to bring her by here, I can keep the dogs from barking at you.”

“Hmph,” said Saber, and took her mug and her snack off to her usual table, unsuccessfully trying to hide a little smile as she did.

Archer leaned back against his counter for a moment, musing. Saber and her beautiful stranger; Rider talking about getting the number of the tall blonde that had accompanied Kuro… Well, probably it was for the best. He’d at least have plenty of eye candy if the other women joined his regulars.

That night, though, it was just his usual crew. Lancer came in early, got his drink and snacks and sat by himself at a table in the corner after greeting Saber. He’d been doing that more and more lately—never withdrawing for the whole evening but spending time alone, lost in his own thoughts. It happened to all of the owner’s special guests sometimes, although less often with Saber than anybody else. Even Archer wasn’t immune to strange moods and a tendency to dwell on what he didn’t know about himself, although he usually tried to keep it too after hours.

Lancer had acquired a new earring somewhere, a silver ovaloid that reminded Archer of a dagger’s blade. He kept brushing his fingers over it as he watched the rest of the bar, and his gaze, when he met Archer’s once, was unusually intent. When Rider arrived after her shop closed, he went over to greet her and returned to his own table with some sheets of notepaper and a borrowed pen.

Both Caster and Other Saber put in an appearance, arriving separately by about only five minutes. Caster went to the table she usually shared with Taiga, where she glowered at Shirou and glared at Archer until Other Saber strode in and she could turn the full force of her burning attention on him.

Other Saber seemed determinedly oblivious, taking his drink and snack to Saber’s table and then loudly ordering a large plate of fried shrimp tempura. Archer took his time getting to the order, recalling that fried shrimp was something of a flash point between the two.

To his vague relief, Taiga showed up before Other Saber got too impatient. He waved her over to the bar so he could give her another order of fried shrimp to share with Caster. As he plated the dish, he said in a low voice, “You’re Caster’s friend, Taiga. What’s going on with her and Other Saber?”

Taiga gave him a wide-eyed look. “You know, I was just about to ask you the same thing. I mean, are they dating? I can’t tell.”

“You haven’t just asked?” said Archer, unable to hide a note of incredulity.

With a shrug, Taiga bit off the tip of one of the shrimps. “Sure I have. For some reason, nobody ever says yes when I ask them that, though. But people are honest with _you_ , Archer.”

Archer shook his head. “Caster doesn’t talk to me. I don’t think she has a very high opinion of men.”

“Hmm,” said Taiga, chewing thoughtfully. “I think she expects everything a beautiful maiden deserves, and hasn’t had much luck getting it.” She gave him the appraising look that so often made his heart ache, and then covered her mouth like she was being arch. “She really should get to know you better.”

“Oh, go take that shrimp to her so I can feed the Sabers,” said Archer gruffly, and giggling wickedly, she did so.

But it wasn’t enough to preserve the harmony of the evening. When Shirou delivered the Sabers’ fried shrimp and a side of sliced amberjack he’d prepared himself, Caster announced loudly to Taiga, “Oh, Assassin seems to have a new job every other day. I saw him flirting with some housewives yesterday. No _wonder_ he keeps getting fired.”

Other Saber hurriedly gobbled three shrimp before asking Saber, “Are you allowed to date other teachers at the high school? No? I wonder if Caster knows that. From the way she was going on when I picked her up today, I bet she doesn’t.”

Caster laughed behind her hand. “Ohoho, but it’s not as if any of those housewives _responded_ to him. If anything, his foolish behavior made them avoid him. Useless dog!”

Taiga looked back and forth between Caster and Other Saber. “Are you jealous, Caster?

_“What?_ ” screeched Caster.

“Because I know a couple of the guys at the school are pretty interested in you—”

Caster’s feathers settled. “Oh. Well, of course—”

Taiga plowed on. “—but the way Other Saber picked you up after school the last few days has made them wonder—”

“Taiga!” said Caster, her cheeks turning red, and whatever she said after was delivered as a whispered flurry of words that Taiga nodded to intermittently as she finished the shrimp.

Other Saber got up and returned his own empty dish to the bar, as well as claiming a drink refill for himself and Saber. As he did, he quirked a grin at Archer.

“Everything all right?” Archer asked, as he managed the glasses.

Other Saber shrugged. “More or less. She brought me tea in my tent last night. She’s gotta make me pay for that somehow.”

And in fact, Caster spent the rest of the evening, loudly and not so loudly, going over every one of Other Saber’s perceived flaws. Archer was genuinely surprised Other Saber endured the flow of complaints so well. He usually avoided Caster this time of the week, and he’d been known to walk out before when she was too cranky with him on their overlapping nights.

But that evening, he seemed… patient. Although he indirectly teased her a few times by talking to Saber about teachers flirting, he otherwise ignored her like she wasn’t there. Archer couldn’t say he entirely approved of the strategy, as it seemed too upset Caster more and more. The way things were headed, he wouldn’t be surprised to find Other Saber lingering after hours asking for a couch to sleep on.

An unusual tension hung in the air that evening, cloaking most of his Regulars. Even when Lancer moved to join his friends, he remained quiet and the mood spread to the others. Archer noticed even Rider’s attention had wandered from her books to rove around the dining room, and her usual smile for him seemed distant and distracted.

As the night grew late, Taiga stretched and started preparing to leave. As usual, she tried to get Caster to go with her. Sometimes Caster did; sometimes Caster didn’t. That night, she didn’t, although she was unusually affectionate when she sent Taiga home alone. Then she sat back at her table, quietly nursing her own drink as if waiting for something.

Even when Archer announced the final call, none of his remaining regulars budged. With a foreboding feeling, he sent Shirou home a little early and took care of the pre-closing cleanup on his own.

Finally, when absolutely everybody else was gone and he normally would have been calling a car for anybody remaining, he leaned against his counter and crossed his arms. “Just what is going on?”

“We’re waiting for you to close,” said Lancer. “Then we’re going to have a meeting.”

Archer’s eyebrows went up. “A meeting? About?”

“Come on, Archer. You know what it’s about. Us.” Lancer unconsciously brushed his fingers over his new earring again.

“Oh. Us.” For some reason the idea of the owner’s special guests having a formal meeting made Archer feel nervous and a little sad. He didn’t know why, so he shoved it away. “Well, let me know next time and I’ll make sure there’s something set aside for us.”

“Didn’t want you to say no, so I didn’t ask _you_ ,” said Lancer.

Suddenly the closed door burst open and Taiga leapt into the room, landing in a ninja pose. “What’s this? You’re having a party without me? Why are you having a party without me, Archer?” Despite her ninja pose, her big eyes were suddenly swimming with tears.

“It’s not a party, Taiga,” said Caster quietly. “It’s a meeting for people with a particular problem.”

Taiga’s eyes brightened. “A support group! All right, let me help. I know how to facilitate good discussions _and_ I can keep secrets!” She looked so proud of herself that Archer couldn’t bring himself to remind her how she’d admitted earlier that day that people avoided confiding in her.

Instead he said, “This won’t be interesting, Taiga, and you have work tomorrow—”

“And Caster doesn’t?” Taiga’s lower lip protruded.

“She can stay,” said Lancer, still in that distracted voice. Then he glanced up from his notepaper. “Too much trouble trying to keep her out. I can deal with her later if she gets in the way.”

Taiga, who had grinned at the description of her as too much trouble, stepped backward. “Come on, Lancer, no need to sound like Grandpa—”

“Oh, come sit down and be quiet, Taiga,” said Caster, exasperated, and Taiga, looking chastened and curious, sat down and put her chin on her hands.

Rider spoke. “Lancer, we’re all here just like you wanted. But what are you hoping to accomplish? We’ve all talked to each other before, if not in this big group.”

Lancer leaned back, fidgeting with his new earring again. His calm gaze swept the room, taking in each and every person present. His gaze lingered longest on Archer, before he said, “We’ve all lost something. Sure, we’ve talked to each other, but we haven’t done it seriously. Most of us treat it as a joke, our lost past. I know I did my best not to think about it because… it was the past, yeah? Didn’t matter as much as now, and tomorrow.”

“Sure,” said Saber, watching him. “We’ve got lives now.”

“We’ve all lost more than our pasts,” said Lancer, and Archer winced, thinking about a girl in red in the alley behind the restaurant, and the black-and-white blades he’d recognized. The memory still made something ache inside him, even though he’d decided not to pursue the part of himself that kept Kuro going.

“Like what?” asked Other Saber, challengingly.

Lancer hesitated before answering, a long enough hesitation that Archer instantly knew he was holding something back. “Our true names. Our purpose, maybe.”

Caster laughed harshly. “And you’ve decided we need to find all that together?”

“Yes,” said Lancer, flatly.

Caster bristled visibly until Other Saber said tiredly, “Come on, Caster. You miss whatever it is as much as anybody. If this is because I’m here, I can—”

Her eyes glittering like diamonds, Caster held a hand to her ear. “Hark. I hear a lonely dog trying to run away again. Frightened of birds?”

“I’m not _afraid_ of birds,” Other Saber growled, his hands flattening on the table as if about to shove himself to his feet.

Archer met Taiga’s eyes and she winked at him before whispering something to Caster. Caster hesitated and then her shoulders slumped. “Fine! But we can’t do this tonight. I _do_ have a job.”

“We can do this Saturdays,” said Lancer. “But I wanted to let you all know tonight.”

“What exactly are we supposed to do?” asked Rider, exasperated. “The idea of a support group doesn’t bother me, but we can hardly talk about what we don’t remember, Lancer.”

“We’ll start with you,” Lancer told her. “You’ve been digging through those books for months now. You can tell us what you’ve found.” As Rider shook her head helplessly, Lancer grinned at her. “Just tell us stories, lass. And then maybe I’ll tell some of my own. I think Archer and Other Saber have some stories to share too. Maybe we can start figuring out the shape of what we’ve lost.”

“And then?” asked Archer, but he thought of the owner and he _knew_ Lancer’s next goal. “Are you sure you want to do this here?”

Lancer met his eyes. “Oh yeah. I think once we’ve figured out enough, we can lure… somebody else out to play.” He stood up. “Well, that’s it for now. Saturday, lads. Don’t make me hunt you down. I’d enjoy it way too much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Hope you enjoyed the chapter. I'm starting a Discord server for readers of my work to meet up with other Fate fans! If this interests you, the invite url is: https://discord.gg/6qjm3fv
> 
> Feel free to stop on by.


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